Invisible Lines
by BanishedOne
Summary: There was a line; it was an invisible line, which was the most tedious. To love somebody, to share so much with somebody, but to be forbidden from ever loving them too much. Because that would be crossing an invisible line, an invisible line with blurry edges that led to so much confusion, so much hurt, but a line that could not be crossed, nonetheless. CANAME/AMECAN
1. Chapter 1

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'A personal essay of a maximum 500 words is required to be submitted with your application for enrollment.'

They wanted him to tell them in 500 words what exactly made him Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy. With 500 words, he was meant to explain who he was and just what made him special, what made him worthwhile.

That was a question that seemed to haunt him all his life. Who was he? What made him special? What he wanted to tell them was, 'What kind of selfish, self-obsessed imbecile takes themself seriously while trying to sell themself as 'individual' and 'special' when they share the world with 7 billion other people? What kind of person happily falls in line and sells themselves, smiling while perfectly aware that the harder they try, the more futures of others they actively steal. What makes it okay?'

But of course, Matthew would never say such a thing. But, try as he may, this essay truly befuddled him. How could he pretend to be special when he shared a face with another? The only way he could ever hope to sell himself as being 'different', was if he told them that he had a twin brother named Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy, who he was desperately infatuated with- that really would make him different, but of course Matthew would never say such a thing. (It wouldn't help him either.)

It was sick, Matthew knew that. It was incredibly narcissistic. And it was forbidden in a way that just couldn't be changed. There was a line; it was an invisible line, which was the most tedious because its borders were there, but couldn't be seen until one accidentally stumbled over it and had the entire world judging them. It was an invisible line drawn somewhere in the sands of time; to love somebody, to share so much with somebody, but to be forbidden from ever loving them _too much_. Because that would be crossing an invisible line, an invisible line with blurry edges that led to so much confusion, so much hurt, but a line that could not be crossed, nonetheless.

Matthew tried to blame his teenage hormones; he could see it everywhere, and the last three years of highschool that laid behind him were proof enough. Teenagers were horny, that much he knew.

But really, did any of his peers ever look at their own sibling and wonder what it would be like to rush them home from school and take them over the bed in a heated, passionate rush, just to make sure they could both finish, and still have time to lay tangled in one another in breathless relief for a while before their parents arrived home?

No. He was sure he was the only one with this problem.

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"Still having trouble with that?," where the first words Alfred spoke as he walked into Matthew's bedroom. He'd taken one look at his twin and known; the pen behind his ear, notebook on his lap, finger poised on his lips, and his wavy hair mussed slightly from how he tended to brush his fingers through it when frustration struck. It was written all over him.

"Hmm..?" Matthew looked up from his paper. He had gotten frustrated at some point and wrote, in rebellion, 'I am Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy'. That was some time before he managed to get lost in other thoughts. "Oh, yeah, you know.."

"Moral and philosophical dilemma, I know. Nobody can sell themselves as 'individual' or 'special' when they share the planet with 7 billion other people, right?" Alfred recited in playful mockery, smiling like sunshine all the while, basking in the gratification that surely came with reading his sibling's thoughts word-for-word.

And Alfred did this so often, Matthew was apt to wonder what other thoughts had miraculously jumped from his own secretive mind and into the open book that was his twin sibling; it was an exhilarating thought but it was much more terrifying. Even more so at this particular moment, because for reasons unknown, Alfred was simply standing in the doorway in silence, framed azure eyes looking toward his sibling as though he'd just now returned from a long, tiring journey.. (Though, if Matthew recalled, his brother had only walked downtown to the comic book store or the retro gaming shop.)

"Alfred?," Matthew asked, as much nervousness in his voice as there was curiosity, "what is it?" He couldn't help but think, perhaps his brother had finally intercepted one of his filthy fantasies; perhaps Alfred had finally caught flashes of himself twisting the sheets of his twin's bed between his fingers as his brother's body draped overtop of him and they were forced as physically close together as they had ever been, save for the moment before they split apart from one egg into two.

And then, that worrisome look of uncertainty melded into the kind of smile Alfred wore on his face as a kid when pretending not to be the guilty one, the 'one who took the cookies from the cookie jar. "I wanna tell you something," he slowly pronounced, in that awkwardly suspicious tone, "but.. I know you're gonna be mad!"

Matthew just sighed, a hard, serious stare plastered heavy on his brother in the doorway. "What is it?"

"I'm throwing a party tonight," Alfred confessed, biting his lip excitedly, though he almost seemed to be waiting to hear Matthew give him approval. It wasn't very surprising, considering their fathers were out of town for the week.

"Can't wait until tomorrow, when our birthday actually is, huh?," Matthew stated in an unimpressed voice.

"Yeeah, see..," Alfred again dragged his syllables in that uncertain and suspicious way, "this was just gonna be a party for me and my friends, and I know you don't really like them all that much, so I wasn't gonna force you to go or anything."

"Alfred, you jerk..," the seated twin sighed, shaking his head at his sibling.

"Whaaat?," Alfred threw up his hands in a guiltless gesture,"I mean, c'mon, do you want to go?"

"..maybe," Matthew quietly answered.

"That's a lie, and I know it..," an accusing finger was pointed in Matthew's direction, firmly calling 'bullshit', "listen Matthew, this isn't a big deal. I'll have this party for my friends tonight and we'll celebrate tomorrow. Isn't that when it really matters?"

"Yeah, fine. I guess," Matthew shrugged,"I'll just have to stay in my room all night while you have fun."

"Oh, no, no, like I'd be that much of a dick!," Alfred declared, waving his hands about before himself, while grinning like the sly little devil he was,"I jacked the coach's keys to the school aquatic centre, so I'm gonna throw the party in there. A _pool_ party!" he admitted, chuckling all the while.

"You did what?," Matthew questioned, though his tone came out rather scolding.

"You know how forgetful the coach is! He probably thinks he misplaced the keys and is busily trying to find them before anybody else finds out!," laughing, Alfred just shrugged in an unworried manner.

"You're gonna get yourself expelled..," the seated brother sighed, shaking his head all over again.

"Nahh! If anybody finds out, it'll blow over before school starts back. And coach will just try to cover up that he let it happen!"

"Well, I hope so.. you better be careful, though."

Alfred laughed softly, his voice full of cheer and void of any thought that anything could ever possibly go wrong. Still, as he spoke up in response, his tone held that somber ring to it, which served to confound Matthew. "Thanks, Matthew, and thanks for understanding. I'm sorry, I hope you're not too disappointed."

"Tch- as if," Matthew lied. He hoped his brother would just resume his usual lack of seriousness because of it, but to his surprise, Alfred didn't budge. There he stood in the doorway, sky colored eyes shining behind his glasses as though they were made of glass as well, and that glass was there for the sole purpose of framing that sad, somber gleam of mystery beneath the surface.

Mystery didn't suit Alfred, in fact, it made him way too intense.

"What is it?," Matthew posed again, his perplexity plain in his voice, "you're acting really weird."

Again, Alfred just laughed, "You're exaggerating, dude.. I just-... I don't want you getting all down about this!" Smiling, he began toward his brother's bed, "Come here, man!"

"Alfred, no," Matthew barked as his twin came and grabbed his notebook from his lap, tossing it aside, then pushed him down on the bed. This was really, the worst possible scenario Matthew could imagine and yet.. his brother had always been so touchy, so physical.

"Alfred!," Matthew hissed as he sat immediately back up, throwing up his hands to push Alfred away though he found that Alfred easily shoved him back down and jumped on top of him, grabbing his wrists in an attempt to disarm his twin sibling. "Alfred, stop!," Matthew continued to forcefully insist, though he was quickly reduced to pleading with his brother, though he kicked and flailed, tipping Alfred to the side more than once, but never long enough to escape, and eventually Matthew found himself tiring. (It really wasn't a fair fight; Alfred had the advantage of surprise and better standing, as well as not having to worry about how awkward this situation could become.)

Falling still, panting and with mussed hair in his face, Matthew made every attempt to avoid looking Alfred in the face, though as his twin's weight hovered still above him, he couldn't help but look up, if only in question and frustration.

And Alfred was just poised above, staring at Matthew as if for no reason at all, in perfect silence. Matthew could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment, though luckily he was sure it could be blamed on his struggle. "Alfred," he uttered, his tone still quite less than amused, "what are you doing? Cut the crap, would you?"

"I.. need to tell you something," Alfred spoke, his voice very soft and gentle,

"..what is it?," Matthew asked, tentative, nervous; sure, Alfred liked to rough house, but he'd never been so intense before now. It made Matthew even more fearful, fearful that his brother had indeed read his mind, or even more frighteningly difficult to comprehend- what if he felt the same? What if Alfred had been dreaming of having Matthew in the very same way Matthew had been imagining? ...It was just too difficult to even consider.

"I just.. I want you to know how much I love you," Alfred stated, his tone cheery and sweet as usual, and though he smiled again in his ever-dorky fashion, his sky-colored eyes still held this strange tiredness deep within.

Slowly, Alfred lowered himself against his brother, their bellies and chests making contact; however, Matthew's breathing only truly hitched when his twin's head lowered near his own, his mind silently panicking in the assumption that his brother meant to kiss him. It turned out that Alfred's intention, actually, was to rest his forehead against his brother's own, and Matthew cursed himself for misreading brotherly affection as something less than innocent.

"Yeah, I..," Matthew's voice was but a whisper, "I love you too, Alfred. Of course."

Alfred smiled, tucking his head in the space between Matthew's neck and shoulder as he flopped over at his sibling's side, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him near.

..and for whatever mysterious, unexplainable reason, Alfred decided to remain in this position for a rather expansive amount of time. Perhaps it was simply that Matthew felt so entirely awkward and nervous that it felt like an eternity. It was so bizarre, even from Alfred, yet Matthew didn't question it.

Finally, Alfred sat himself upright and declared that he needed to be off to make preparations for the party. The odd behavior was finalized with a pat to Matthew's head, and Alfred showed himself out without another word.

Matthew slowly pulled himself up from the mattress, not bothering to move any further until he heard the sound of his brother's footsteps fade from earshot. Then, once he was sure he was alone once again, he ran a shaking hand through his mussed blonde hair, took a deep breath, and returned his notebook to his lap.

..but he had a feeling that writing his essay would be even more difficult now, because maintaining focus on such a thing over the thoughts that would plague him for the rest of the night seemed a sheer impossibility.

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_Dreams as unusual as this one were truly a rarity;_

The expansive space of the room was dimly lit and colored a dull blue by the wiggling light that poured up from below and danced along the walls and ceiling. The humid air was flush against his bared chest and smelled distinctly of chlorine. The floor beneath the pads of his feet felt to be a smooth, damp tile. Before him stretched an Olympic-sized swimming pool, the water empty and quiet, and seeming to glow from the pool-lights.

Matthew stood poised at the edge before the pool, just staring in silence.

This was one of the many differences between Matthew and his brother that hardly anybody was aware of; Alfred was an excellent swimmer. Alfred had always been at home in the water. He'd never required swimming lessons or even time to learn this skill; it came naturally to him.

Many years ago, back when Alfred and Matthew had only just been adopted by their two successful fathers, the twin siblings laid eyes on their very first swimming pool. Upon introduction to such a thing, Alfred sprinted full speed toward it, giggling like a tiny mad man, and leapt right in. He made a rather significant splash, then bobbed right to the top of the deep end, splashing around and propelling himself through the water as though he had secretly been a dolphin in little boy form all along.

Matthew, knowing in his heart that he and his brother were identical, and that he could therefor do anything his brother could do, bolted for the pool in the same triumphant manner, but when he jumped in, instead of swimming, he sank instead.

Arthur and Francis had already had half of a heart-attack when Alfred jumped in, and because the first boy had a miraculous swimming ability, their false sense of security had them both suffering yet another heart attack when Matthew didn't come up after a few moments. They didn't waste any time rushing to the pool with the intention of jumping in after the boy, but Alfred was the first one there, and he dove to the bottom like the untrained expert that he was and pulled his brother up from the depths, to safety.

Matthew thought this dream was meant to be something similar to that time, and yet.. the surroundings were so unfamiliar. Arthur and Francis's swimming pool was curvy and decorative, surrounded by flowerbeds and shrubbery and patio tables, and other things you'd expect to find in somebody's backyard on a nice, sunny day. This pool was nothing like that one, and absolutely nobody else was around.

There was a flash of lightning, with an ominous clap of thunder chasing it. The storm flashed in skylights above, along with the sound of the rain pelting the ceiling, and in that flash, Matthew fell forward into the pool. He fell so rapidly, so forcefully, it wasn't as though he stumbled or jumped, but as though he'd been standing on the edge, only to be pushed.

He sank down into the depths, unable to move his body, though he flipped onto his back in the water, facing upward, peering up toward the surface he so desperately wanted to kick and flail toward. It was, in a way, as though he weren't in control of himself, and all he could do was watch as the gleam of the pool lights glared around him, casting a shadow of his sinking figure, like some horrific theater of drowning.

He could not flail or attempt to swim, and though he felt the bottom of the pool beneath the wrinkled pads of his feet, he couldn't kick off from it. He just laid at the bottom of the pool, staring up at the wiggling surface, the water choppy from the impact of his body against it. Then, as the water began to still just enough for Matthew to make out a figure beyond, a figure at the edge of the pool, just staring down, his vision began to fade.

His lips moved, as though he was speaking, bubbles spiraling and racing to the surface as he wished he could, and everything went black. He heard a voice in his mind, a whispered, pleading voice, and the voice uttered only two syllables.

'..Matthew..'

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A shroud of darkness was the only thing prevalent in Matthew's mind until his heart was jolted by a startling boom and he sat straight up in his bed. The young male felt himself gasping, the reality not truly cluing in with him that he hadn't sank like a brick to the bottom of a pool until he wakened enough to stare toward his bedroom window, where the pattering rain and rumbling thunder in the distance reminded him he was still safe at home.

Not that he was amused to see the storm; the weather had predicted sun.

"Happy Birthday to me," he groaned, pushing a hand through his messy hair in a groggy manner. It surely wouldn't ruin his plans with Alfred, but wet weather always put a damper on things. He would just have to discuss it with his brother.

God, he hoped Alfred wasn't sorely hungover on top of things.

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Yawning, Matthew padded from his bedroom in a way that was unsteady and foretold that he had just awakened. His first thought was to go bother his brother, and make the little brat pay for his little party to which Matthew hadn't really been invited.

Okay- so it was petty.

Matthew knocked on Alfred's door, not at all expecting his brother to answer. Alfred was normally an early riser, except on mornings after parties. When the expected silence was the answer to Matthew's knocking, he opened the door and walked in, only to find that Alfred's room was completely unoccupied, and in fact, it looked as if Alfred hadn't even come home from his party.

Perhaps he'd stayed the night with somebody else? But...would he really do that, when he had plans with Matthew? If he was too drunk to drive home, couldn't he just walk home? Their house was just a few blocks from the school, after all. Maybe he forgot about his plans with Matthew?

Really? Alfred was irresponsible, but was he really this irresponsible? God, if he left a huge mess at that aquatic center, the school was going to have his ass.

The still-drowsy (he didn't do mornings) young male walked back to his room to grab up his cell phone, and he easily dialed Alfred. The other end rang but then eventually went to Alfred's voicemail. He tried this several more times, thinking Alfred was probably at one of his friend's houses, on their couch, and was just taking forever to wake up. Matthew kept calling quite a few more times, but Alfred never picked up.

Damn it.

The teen looked toward the window once again- the rain was steadily pelting the glass, distorting the image of the world outside, but Matthew had no other choice. At the very least, he wanted to make sure the school aquatic center wasn't trashed, while Alfred was shacked up with a fuck-buddy for all he knew.

The blonde teen changed into some everyday clothes, and threw on a coat. He grabbed his umbrella on the way out the door, leaving the door unlocked just in case Alfred stumbled in while he was gone. Luckily, the school wasn't a far distance away.

Matthew trekked up the street a few blocks, rain boots sloshing in the puddles that gathered on the pristine, flowerbed and shrub-lined sidewalk. The school aquatic center was technically across the street from the school; Matthew had been to it several times and always for Alfred's sake. Their fathers were busy more often than not so Matthew was the only family member that usually attended Alfred's sporting events. (Matthew happily used these events as an excuse to watch his perfectly formed brother zip around soaking wet and nearly nude. Football, however, wasn't nearly as entertaining.)

Not surprised at all, Matthew found the door to the aquatic center unlocked. The wet sound of his boots both clicked and squished against the smooth tile of the floor as he entered, and it echoed down the darkened corridor of the entryway, into the wide, open area of the arena.

The warm, humid air rushed against the teenager's face, thick as he inhaled the scent of chlorine. At a steady pace, Matthew walked past the doors that lead into the male and female locker rooms, out into the arena where the seating area was located. The placed looked a mess, as per usual for any party, he supposed, but it seemed this must have been an absolute bash on the scale of what was possible for teenagers to organize. Half-empty drinks were scattered almost everywhere and somebody had left behind what appeared to be some psychedelic lighting and sound equipment.

Matthew found himself bewildered, because he'd thought even Alfred would have been responsible enough to clean up this kind of mess under the circumstances. The young male walked out, down a small set of stairs, to where the actual pool was, eyes tracing first along the now messily arranged snack and drink tables that first greeted him upon his descent and the absolute hell that had been raised from them, then to the pool that was scattered with a cocktail of floating objects from beach balls, to inner tubes and pool noodles, and lastly.. a motionless body.

Fearful uncertainty coursed like a tremulous ache through Matthew's entire frame in that breathless moment. He wanted to deny this image even existed, and he probably blinked half a dozen times in the hopes that it would disappear, so finding it in himself to inwardly confess that even despite the disgusting pallor of the deathly still body's flesh, that physique, that face, even the hair color that was dulled by the water.. It was Alfred's.

And even still, Matthew hadn't taken a single breath. His lungs felt to be paralyzed, his mind a haze, his limbs like lead. This image glared at him; his brother's skin was paler than Matthew had ever seen any person's skin be, and in his shock he was sure it emitted some kind of radiant light that made his eyes burn and his head swim. The still sound of the air rang in his ears at an unsteadying, shrill volume, much louder than the faint sound of the pool water lapping now and again at the sides. The teen was nauseous and suddenly so very light-headed, but none of that stopped him from the reaction that came when the shock faded away.

It did not matter to him that he could not swim. Matthew ran toward the pool, jumping in fully clothed without an ounce of grace, just trying to fly as far as he could across the glassy surface before he sank in. The water swallowed him up, the overwhelming volume of it rushing around him; it rumbled as he was engulfed, a blinding veil of bubbles surrounding him. He kicked against the bottom, looking up toward his sibling, flailing in his direction and grabbing onto him. The frantic teen kicked and writhed his way through the water, not swimming so much as he was fighting it, though he sank in past his ears despite his efforts, and had to extend his neck while looking upward to even keep enough of his head above the water to breathe. Yet still, he paddled his way back to the edge, pulling himself hurriedly up without letting go of Alfred for a moment. In all honestly, Matthew probably was only able to stay partially afloat because of how he grappled his brother.

In Matthew's desperate state of mind, it was difficult for him to manage pulling his brother from the water; Alfred's body was limp and waterlogged, but Matthew found enough determination to drag him out. The frenzied boy's mind only found just enough focus to determine his next course of action without any further prompting; last year's health class was still relatively fresh in his mind and the entire student body that had taken the class had been certified in CPR.

Blurry, tear-filled eyes tried not to focus on the absence of color in Alfred's cheeks and lips, or the glassy state of his half-open eyes, or how his body was more motionless than Alfred had ever been in his entire life.

Trembling hands straightened the motionless male's airway, fingers ducking beneath his chin and pushing his head up, before Matthew plugged his brother's nose and pressed his lips to Alfred's, breathing air from his own lungs into the other's. He withdrew slightly, took a deep breath and repeated this action, then hurriedly shifted his position in order to perform compressions.

The desperate boy placed his hands against his brother's chest as he'd been taught, his petrified sorrow shuddering through his entire frame, his own chest wracked with painful sobs as he tried to revive his sibling, unwilling to face the horrifying fact that Alfred was dead, and he'd been dead for some time. He didn't want to tell himself that this was all for naught, all because Matthew just couldn't perceive living the entire rest of his life without the constant comfort of Alfred's presence, his cherished brother, who he loved with all of his heart. In his panic, he lost count of how many compressions he'd even done, unable to contain the tears that came rushing from his eyes, and down his cold cheeks, mixing with the water dripping from his messy blonde locks.

The compressions were of no effect, and with movements befitting a boy who was beside himself in panicked sorrow, Matthew thrust his hand into his pocket, only to find that his phone had gotten water-logged in the pool.

"Shit, shit, shit," Matthew chimed over and over again, which changed to, "please, please, please," as he desperately tried to turn the phone on. Luckily, it responded, though it's behavior was suddenly buggy and the screen looked bizarre and fuzzy, and unusually brightly colored. It didn't matter; Matthew still dialed 9-1-1 on the phone, and was able to reach somebody.

"It's my brother," was his immediate response to being asked what his emergency was, "he fell into a pool. He's not breathing,"

'Where are you?,' was the next question that was posed, to which Matthew immediately responded, "United World Private Academy, the aquatic center."

'Okay, I'm sending an ambulance to you. Can you do CPR?,' the disembodied voice asked the frightened teen.

"Yes, I did, but it doesn't seem to be working," Matthew answered, the sound of his voice more weak than he'd ever heard, his throat tight as he forced himself to speak through his tears,

'Alright, if you can, could you please continue to perform CPR on the victim, and hand the phone to somebody else, if there's anybody else present, and if you're the only person present, just set the phone aside, and I'll remain on the line,'

Matthew followed the responder's instructions, weeping for a few long, horrific minutes at the futility of what he was doing. His brother's body was so frigid, whereas he'd always been brimming with sunshine, as though he were a similar solar body on Earth, emitting radiant warmth and causing everybody who came in contact with him to gravitate to him, to revolve around him, to become part of his own, personal solar system.. And now that light had vanished.

Still, the boy continued until he could feel himself becoming exhausted, physically and mentally. Matthew's fingers were slowly bundled into fists against his brother's chest, feeling the sheer emptiness beneath them- no breath, no heartbeat. Finally, the inevitable truth dawned on him- Alfred was dead, no matter what the sirens just outside seemingly promised. They offered little real hope and with unfathomable despair, Matthew folded himself against his cold, lifeless brother, sobbing against his neck that was vacant of pulse, fingers stroking at Alfred's wet hair, clutching at him and not wanting to let him go.

The weeping twin felt as though his reality lay here as broken and dead as his other half, as though the sky may very well open up and consume him, and perhaps he was okay with that. He felt that a world without Alfred was a world without Matthew, because he could not go on. If he were capable, he would have never been born with a strong, brave, radiant sibling to hold his hand throughout their lives, to keep him stable when times grew hard.

Without Alfred, there could be no Matthew; perhaps they were separated as people by invisible lines, but if the world of one ended, so too, did the world of the other.

..and then, as the young male descended into the darkest recesses of his own consciousness, Matthew recalled the previous night's dream. Rarely did Matthew remember his own dreams, but as he lay here pressed to his deathly cold sibling, he became aware of this dull sensation, like they had suddenly become one, like Alfred had reached deep inside him, to remind him of this one thing.

The vivid reality of it played through his mind, and just as he was denying that a boy who'd swam since childhood, a boy who'd saved him from drowning so many years ago, could ever be the one the water swallowed up, he recalled the dull flicker above the surface from his dream, uncertain at first that it was even there, though it grew ever more prominent as a new idea sprang into the forefront of Matthew's thoughts.

And in this moment of realization, Matthew fell just as still as Alfred.

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When the echo of the door to the aquatic center being opened rang rather audibly throughout the building, Matthew opened his teary eyes, feeling that he'd fallen asleep for a very long while and only now was awakening, though only a few moments had passed.

The EMT's approached with haste, hurriedly placing the pale, wet, motionless body upon a stretcher, then they lifted the young male and diligently carried him out of the building as quickly as possible, to where the ambulance was waiting.

One of them quickly questioned the only other person present.

His first question was, "Do you know the name of the victim?"

And the answer that was given to him was, "Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy."

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TBC

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	2. Chapter 2

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"Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy?," the EMT repeated as he took down the information.

"Yes," the young man stated from where he sat on his knees, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand. His voice was terribly weak, barely able to utter a single syllable. His emotions were so warped, he could hardly even comprehend the gravity of what he was doing, or the fact that he couldn't turn back now.

"Alright then. We'll do what we can," the EMT explained, turning quickly on heel, though as he saw himself out, he uttered something into the radio snapped to one of the straps on his uniform.

Matthew watched the entire crew disappear up the stairs and toward the corridor that led to the exit. He was left staring at the wet print where his brother's body had just been and shivering from cold and disbelieving sorrow riddled with sobs that desperately wished to escape.

'_I don't know if I can do this,' _was all the teen could think_,_ searching and reaching for any shred of strength he had hidden within himself.

He knew this would be difficult. He knew this would break him apart from the inside, out. It would stretch him thin, until he was ready to tear down the middle. This would destroy him, but he had to try... because there was no way Alfred could have possibly drowned. No way in Hell. Somebody must have done this to him, and Matthew was determined to find out who it was, and why, then make them answer for this unspeakable crime.

Even if it meant throwing himself away completely, even if it meant giving up his own life as well, he would do this.

What Matthew didn't know was that his ability to even _do this_ would be tested so quickly.

The creak of the door, and the sound of shoes against the wet tile could be heard. There were voices uttering, 'What a mess!' and, 'What the hell happened here?' Glassy blue eyes were raised to see that two police officers had come inside to get further information from the only other person present. Matthew had to reach deep inside himself to even summon the strength and courage it was going to take for him to stand and face these officers.

"Are you alright, son?," one asked as the trembling teenager got unsteadily to his feet. Surely the question was misguided, but Matthew was aware they meant to ask if he was free from any physical harm, and as far as that was concerned, he was.. but he wasn't alright at all. Still, he nodded to them.

"What's your name?," the other asked.

"Alfred," he uttered, clearing his throat so that he could speak better, "Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy."

"So," the officer continued, "the other boy is your brother, is that correct?"

Matthew nodded.

"And, can you tell us what happened here? In as much detail as you can, please," they posed, looking to Matthew expectantly.

The teen took a deep breath, utterly unprepared to face the daunting task that was fabricating a story. He slowly exhaled, unsure if he could even speak clearly for long enough to tell such a lie, though he hoped beyond all hope that his frail emotional state made his hesitation and unsteadiness in speaking plausible.

"...I threw a party in here last night," he began, trying to be deliberately plain and uncomplicated, trying not to stumble over his own lies, "I had been drinking and I was really drunk, so when the party was over and everybody went home, Matthew told me to go home and get to bed and that he would clean up the mess.. He was here alone and I guess he fell into the pool. He'd been drinking too, just not as much as me, and.. he couldn't swim."

Matthew was unsure if the police officers were maintaining professional neutrality or if they simply had been trained to regard everything with skepticism; still, he was glad when they wrapped up their questions with his parent's contact information, offered him a ride he declined, then informed him of where the ambulance had taken his brother.

Once again, Matthew was alone. He slowly walked back up the stairs past the seating area and down the corridor toward the exit, choosing instead to walk into the boy's locker room. He already was aware which locker belonged to Alfred and what the combination for his lock was. He opened the locker and pulled out Alfred's clothes he'd been wearing overtop of his swimsuit, his cellphone, and his car keys.

Matthew pocketed the phone for now, but hugged his brother's clothes to himself for a moment, shivering and wanting so desperately to cry. But the reality was, he didn't even have a moment to spare; he had work to do before his fathers were informed of what had happened and jumped a plane home from Europe.

The last thing Matthew gathered up was himself, then he exited the building, Alfred's car keys still in hand. He would drive himself home.

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The image of Alfred's sweet, smiling face before he'd left for the party just the previous evening was so plain in Matthew's mind. Just yesterday, he had his brother here with him, close to him. He could speak to him, touch him, love him.. but because he was too much of a shy little shit, he wasn't there to protect Alfred when he needed it in return.

He wasn't there to save Alfred from the water as Alfred had been for him. Matthew bent over the sink of the downstairs powder room, his chest aching from how he'd sobbed, and yet he just couldn't stop breaking down. Maybe he was expecting too much of himself, pushing himself to lock his grief and all the 'what if's' away. He'd always kept his emotions so easily hidden.. Not anymore, it seemed, which was just as well, because he wasn't himself anymore. He never would be again.

Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy was dead.

Matthew took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror. His cheeks and nose were chapped and red, his eyes were puffy and his hair was a wavy mess. But, he was going to change that.

Alfred, as Matthew remembered so easily from the day before, had been due for a haircut. He was usually so adamant about keeping his hair cut a certain way so it never grew too long, but for whatever reason, he'd been putting it off. His barber must have been so confused. This worked in Matthew's favor now, however, as he looked at himself, as Matthew, in the mirror for the very last time, tightening his fingers around the scissors in his hand.

Not many people were aware, apart from Alfred's closest family, but once Alfred's hair reached a certain length, it would begin to grow in waves as well. It shouldn't have been terribly surprising considering he and Matthew were twins, but then again.. who even knew Matthew existed?

-snip-, was the sound of the scissors as they cut the first wavy strand. Matthew watched in the mirror as his curls were severed one by one, and his old hairstyle was shed for the shorter clip his twin had sported.

This would work, because Alfred's hair was just long enough to pass for his own, and now his would pass for Alfred's.

There was an invisible line that divided them. Their appearance was so damn near identical, and while their personalities were worlds apart, the line that separated them was an invisible one.

Physically, Alfred could be mimicked in every way, and Matthew began to realize that he'd crossed that invisible line. It was a painful reminder of how much he loved his brother, how much he had wanted to be by his brother's side, so much that it haunted him and was now driving him to _become_ his beloved twin, to welcome Alfred's killer to try again.

He'd crossed an invisible line.

::

* * *

::

Alfred's cellphone was ringing. Matthew had only barely finished cleaning up the mess he'd made in cutting his hair and disposing of the evidence.

He hadn't had any time to sit down and think about how he planned to face his brother's idiot friends as Alfred, since Matthew knew so little about them, apart from what Alfred had told him in the past.

Though he was perfectly capable of ignoring the call had it been one of Alfred's pals from school, Matthew felt the twinge of nervousness deep within himself at the very notion that he was even going to attempt this. In some way, he supposed he should have been glad- the fear enveloping him could almost shroud the devastation of his loss, almost. At the very least, the fear was distracting from the emptiness and the wanton denial that Alfred wouldn't simply return home extremely late from the party, after all.

However, when Matthew checked the ringing cellular phone, he found that it was one of his father's calling him. This would be his very first test. The test to see if the men who had raised the two of them could tell who he was.

"Hello," his voice rasped, roughened from all of his sobbing.

"Tell me it isn't true!," Francis's voice spoke up, tears and shock apparent in his tone as he pleaded with his remaining son to tell him that this was all some sick joke.

"..no, it's true," Matthew uttered in response, his own voice going weak all over again as the images of his beautiful brother laying cold and dead before him sprang to mind. He placed a hand over his eyes, feeling he could perhaps fight off the tears. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, though he knew that..had it been Alfred taking this call, he would have cried openly. Rarely did Alfred have a reason to cry, but when his emotions were stirred, he wore them proudly whereas Matthew fought them off.

The teen's lip trembled as he uttered his next words, "I called the hospital earlier. They weren't able to resuscitate him. They pronounced him dead as soon as he arrived."

"How could you let this happen?!" Francis spoke, no sense of calm to his voice at all. It was somewhere between crying and accusing, and Matthew couldn't help but bite his lip. He loved his Papa, yet it was more difficult than he'd thought it would be.. To hear his father accuse Alfred in such a way, as though he were Alfred's responsibility. If they knew the truth, would they accuse him in such a way? Or would they say that foolish boy had it coming?

"I'm sorry," Matthew uttered, his shoulders trembling as his tears fell from his downcast eyes, making tiny patters against the hardwood floors. If it had been Alfred's responsibility to look after him, then he shared in that same responsibility, and he'd failed miserably, because he was too selfish to be there for Alfred, "...I'm such a fuck up," he confided, allowing his emotions to break the steadiness of his tone.

Francis, clearly weeping amidst his hysterics, began to babble in French, which Matthew wished he couldn't understand, though he managed to roughly catch, 'drunken fool, too stupid and self-absorbed, left my poor Matthew to die, irresponsible,' and it trailed off from there.

Matthew bundled his fist, pressing it against his aching chest- he'd gravely underestimated how difficult it would be to hear his father's speak such horrendous things to him, when he was aware the son his father cursed was the one who truly lay locked in the morgue.

"...it should have been me," Matthew confessed, his voice still weak though he tried to force himself to speak more clearly. He bitterly wished, indeed, that he could take his brother's place.

Here, Arthur took the phone away from Francis, knowing that the man would say far too much that he didn't mean in his hysterical state of mind. Arthur's voice, though somber, was so incredibly calm. Matthew couldn't even comprehend the man's composure.

"Are you alright, Alfred?," he asked.

"..no," he answered, barely audible, biting at his trembling lip.

"Will you survive until we arrive back home tomorrow? We're catching an early plane."

"I suppose," the teen breathed lowly.

"Try not to get yourself into any more trouble, alright? Just stay home, if you can manage that."

"Alright," Matthew answered, then he hung up the phone.

::

* * *

::

Matthew's eyes were sore and tired from all the tears he'd shed, perhaps more than he had shed in his lifetime, and he felt he had a lifetime's worth more before he would ever be finished weeping over Alfred. For now, however, the teen distracted himself with snooping through his brother's cellphone memory.

Leaning against the side of Alfred's bed, Matthew navigated through the cellphone menu, until he was able to access the text message inbox and outbox.

'Hey dude, I'll see you there, right?', 'You bet.'

'Yo, haven't seen you in a bit, huh? Coming to my party? ;)', 'Wouldn't miss it!'

'Down for the pool party?', 'I'm down. :)'

For reasons Matthew couldn't be quite certain of, though he would suppose it was the rapid rate at which his brother's inbox filled up, it had obviously been recently cleared and now the only thing that remained were these repetitive reminders to Alfred's friends about the party, and their responses. Matthew had deeply hoped there would be more leftover, more that he could cling to, like little scraps of the brother whose radiant smile he'd never see again.

He swore.. He'd give anything, even if he could just hear his brother's voice again.

The young male took a breath, forcing himself to clear his mind, lest he break down all over again. He looked back down at the phone that was quietly resting in the palm of his hand; he supposed, at the very least, he could get a tentative idea who all had attended the party.

Feeling exhausted and listless, and overall just wanting to turn his brain off, Matthew finally stood from his position on the floor and faced his sibling's bed, just staring at it like it was some holy shrine he was just about to deface. A hand shyly reached out, fingertips lightly tracing the patterns of the expensive comforter that Francis had insistently purchased for Alfred, if only to hide the fact that the boy still had comic book bed sheets underneath. And Alfred had probably consented just in case his friends came along and found out what a huge nerd he really was. (It was for this same reason that Alfred had insisted that his collection of comics and cheesy science-fiction movies be tucked under Matthew's bed, rather than his own. Socially speaking, he was probably expected to have pornography mags hidden under his bed, and nothing less.)

Peeling the covers back with ever so much care, Matthew turned off the lights and crawled into his brother's bed, tucking the cell phone beneath his pillow.

He had wanted so badly to lay beside his brother in this very bed. He wanted to hold him and feel the warmth of his beautiful body, and breathe his beautiful scent, and tell him everything that he felt in his heart..

Matthew wished so desperately for the opportunity to be honest with somebody about his feelings, for the first time in his life. And for the first time in his life, honesty wasn't an option at all.

Matthew clutched the blankets around himself, clinging to them until eventually the boy fell into a troubled and restless slumber.

::

* * *

::

TBC

::


End file.
